


Pier Rot

by edelweissroses



Category: Batman - All Media Types, IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Body Horror, Crossover, Freeform, Gen, Horror, I'm just flying by the seat of my pants, I'm just gonna set up the situation and let the characters take it from there, Look I have no idea where this is going, Look I'm inserting PENNYWISE into the DC Universe there's gonna be horror shenanigans okay, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Joker/Harleen Quinzel, Pennywise (IT) Lives, Psychological Horror, We're all in for the ride together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 11:35:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21035594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edelweissroses/pseuds/edelweissroses
Summary: “Are you the Boogeyman?”It pulled back.“Me? A Boogeyman?” It forced itself to look aghast, placing its hand against its chest, “Never! Never ever! Not in a million years!”“Really?” the little girl parroted, “Not in a million years?”“Not in a million, bajillion-and-one!” It crossed its heart, or rather where it would be if it had one, “Clown’s honor!”“So, then… you’re not…” her voice dropped down to below a whisper, “You’re not the Joker?”





	Pier Rot

_ Gotham, New Jersey / / 2015 _

It was tired.

8 hours.

8 hours that had felt like a lifetime. 8 hours of slithering through sewers, of swimming up streams, of salivating with hunger. 8 hours of stumbling down highways, of soliciting drivers barreling past, of satiating itself with their  _ screams.  _ 8 hours of slipping from form to form, of securing a passage to safety, of stumbling down the stairs into the subway and throwing itself onto the first train out. 8 hours since it had  _ lost. _

It laid back, hitting its head against the graffitied glass.

The train rocketed down the tracks, hitting a dark tunnel. Two gold, glowing eyes stared back.

By the time they’d passed through, it’d lost the form of the old woman it had been mimicking entirely. Gone were the shaking hands. Gone were the cane and shawl. Gone was the drool dribbling down its chin and gone was the stench of mothballs and baby powder.

All that remained… was a  _ clown. _

It growled.

There was no point in hiding now, it supposed. The jig was up! Starvation was already slowly eating it alive. It might as well lay down, relax, and find some sense of comfort as it died.

It sprawled out over the entire row of empty seats, now needing all six to accommodate its long, gangly legs and oversized head instead of the one it’d been hunched over in. It closed its eyes, waiting for death to come and extinguish it.

It never thought that it would end this way.

A millennia of life, wasted.

Spending its final moments withering away on a dirty, decrepit train—

“...excuse me.”

It turned its head.

“...’m sorry… I didn’t mean to wake you. Momma doesn’t like it when I wake her,” the little girl chewed on her thumb, the nail already bitten down to the root, “Are you a clown?”

It grinned.

“Why yes… yes, I am!”

It stuck its arms ramrod straight into the air and playfully rattled its ruffles, the silver bells jangling comically from within them eliciting a surprised laugh from the girl. Her eyes widened, fear floating up its nostrils and making its mouth  _ water. _

She glanced back at her mother, passed out in the corner seat with a brown paper bag clutched tightly in her grasp.

It tilted its head.

“Do you like clowns, moppet?”

She looked back.

“Mmhmm,” the little girl shuffled from foot-to-foot, her thumb quickly returning to her mouth, “I know ‘m not s’pposed to. But I—But I—”

It hated stuttering.

It pulled its legs up to its chest and rolled off the seats, squatting down to the little girl’s eye level.

“It’s okay.” It smiled, all buck-toothed and dopey. “I won’t bite.”

She giggled.

“You’re funny!” The little girl went to press her hands against her mouth again, but stopped herself before she could. She leaned in. “Can I ask you a question?”

It turned its head and tapped its ear.

“Only if you whisper it!”

She drew closer.

“Are you the Boogeyman?”

It pulled back.

“Me? A Boogeyman?” It forced itself to look aghast, placing its hand against its chest, “Never! Never ever! Not in a million years!”

“Really?” she parroted, “Not in a million years?”

“Not in a million, bajillion-and-one!” It crossed its heart, or rather where it would be if it had one, “Clown’s honor!”

“So, then… you’re not…” her voice dropped down to below a whisper, “You’re not the Joker?”

“No, moppet. I like to joke around, yes I do!” It mustered up enough energy to stand on top of its head, wiggling its arms around and sticking out its tongue, “But I’m no Joker. I’m Pennywise the Dancing Clown! I sing! I dance! If you squeeze my nose, it honks!”

It thrust out its hand.

“How do you do, miss…?”

The little girl took its hand and giggled.

“Beverly. Beverly Davis.”

Its smile twitched.

“Does your nose really honk if I squeeze it?”

Drool dribbled out of the corner of its mouth.

“Only one way to find out.”


End file.
